


The 12 Drabbles of Aubreyad

by Odsbodkins



Category: Aubrey-Maturin Series - Patrick O'Brian, Master and Commander - All Media Types
Genre: 12 Days of Christmas, Drabbles, Gen, Perfect Duet Advent Calendar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-06
Updated: 2013-12-06
Packaged: 2018-01-03 16:42:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1072794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Odsbodkins/pseuds/Odsbodkins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the <a href="http://perfect-duet.livejournal.com/">Perfect Duet</a> Advent Calendar: a drabble for each of the twelve days of Christmas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The 12 Drabbles of Aubreyad

**Author's Note:**

> I've used the original "four colly birds" (meaning black birds), rather than calling birds.

**Twelve Lords a Leaping**

Stephen looked at the paper in front of him. “As a cipher, it is certainly novel-“

“Novel and insulting. To depict Sea Lords in such a manner, leaping about like a cat on a hot stove.”

“Indeed. Though once one has smoked that it is a cipher, it is easy to see that it forms an address. Do we have any more enciphered in this way?”

“Just our twelve leaping lords.”

“The effort expended to make this suggest that the leaping lords are part of the message.”

“The address is the locale, the images that form it the message. Ingenious.”

**Eleven Ladies Dancing**

The coloured silks of the evening dresses flashed brightly, counterpointed by the glitter of naval epaulettes. Stephen stared at them, as they dissolved into a blur of swirling colour in the dance in front of his tired eyes. Much like the plumage of tropical birds, though he could not, through his currently slightly fogged brain, bring to mind any bird where the females bore brighter plumage than the male.

The eleven ladies were quite outnumbered by the naval officers present, and Stephen thought that he could detect the first signs of wilting, as they were summoned for dance after dance.

**Ten Pipers Piping**

“If they’s don’t shut up with that caterwauling, I’ll puncture them damn bags meself.” Killick glared murderously at the Highlanders, incongruous in their Highland garb and pipes in the Indian heat.

“Don’t you know nothing about Highlanders?” said Bonden. “Them pipes’ like their children. You wouldn’t get close. Might slit your throat just for looking at them like that.”

Killick’s scowl deepened. “Get one of our sharpshooters to do it then. Pop ‘em, a bullet each.”

“We could go somewhere else.”

“I has found shade, cool water and nice ladies. I ain’t giving it over for a pack of scotchmen.”

**Nine Drummers Drumming**

It was something of a revelation to Stephen that drumming was a skill that was taught. With the exception of the mathematical arts, it always seemed to him that sailors (officers and men alike) absorbed their skills like sponges. Or perhaps more like osmosis. A ship of the Royal Navy serving as a concentrated solution of naval knowledge, permeating the unknowing landsman. He could only assume that it was either an aspect of his personality or his profession which performed the role of an impervious membrane preventing the passage of such knowledge. These drummers still needed practice. Lots of practice.

**Eight Maids a Milking**

A milking competition was an aspect of land-based existence which Jack had never experienced before. Quite how he had been volunteered to judge it he was unsure. Perhaps his neighbours were labouring under a misapprehension as to the role of a naval captain, though he was at a loss as to understand where they thought milking came in.

He had seen it done, of course. A goat was a valuable addition to a ship. But how he was supposed to differentiate between the eight young ladies, all of whom were successfully extracting milk from their cows, he did not know.

**Seven Swans a Swimming**

“It is a great pity that we did not reach Australia. They have the only black representative of the cygninae-” Stephen caught Jack’s eye, “That is, black swans.”

“Black? A queer colour for swans. Are you certain they are swans?”

Stephen waved in the direction of the seven swans passing elegantly past their boat as they were rowed down the Thames. “As certain as I am that these specimens are swans, my dear. As I am sure you would be, had you occasion to see them. But that continent is filled with oddities, I must tell you of the wombat-”

**Six Geese a Laying**

“Penny on six. Look at her, ready to pop any minute-”

“One, she’s my girl, ready to lay us a lovely egg, aren’t you-”

“Come on four, don’t let me down-”

“Bessie, you beauty, you’re going to lay for me, aren’t you my darling-”

“Bessie?”

“Naught wrong wi’ naming a goose. Specially one as is going to win me this wager.”

“Scraggy goose like that doesn’t have an egg to be laid in her.”

“Oho, sounds like you’ll be wanting to raise your wager, if you thinks my Bessie is such a poor layer.”

“Oh, I ain’t falling for that.”

**Five Gold Rings**

Jack and Stephen headed towards the sound of the commotion, and came to the head of the stairs to find Killick holding a ragged boy by a foot, dangling him upside down.

Killick shook the unfortunate thief, by the looks of it not for the first time, “And-” another shake, “where,” -shake- “is the last one?”

Killick held him up for Jack’s inspection, the boy looking very pale. “Dirty little thief, still got one of your rings.”

He punctuated that with a final shake, causing the boy to vomit copiously over the floor. Killick pointed triumphally, “Ha! Five gold rings!”

**Four Colly Birds**

“Why is it necessary to have four of them?”

“They are two breeding pairs, my dear. The long voyage may not be kind to them, and I wish to to breed from them when we return to England. There are a great many theories on their habits regarding their eggs-”

“It is not their eggs that concern me, rather their size, their smell and their noise.”

As if prompted, one of the penguins stretched out its neck and let out a strange cry.

Jack looked at them, and considered when consigning them to the cooking pot would be most appropriate.

**Three French Hens**

Pullings beamed over the roast. Or rather, roasts plural, as three chickens were sat steaming enticingly on the table. Jack made suitably appreciative noises as Pullings presented the meal hard-won from his prize.

The meat was, in all truth, a little old and tough. But it was made all the sweeter for the victory. The French captain had obstinately not struck his colours even though the fight was clearly lost, causing a waste of powder and blood. So it was a genuine pleasure to take his three prize fighting cocks, slit their throats and roast them for a celebratory dinner.

**Two Turtle Doves**

Charlotte and Fanny looked at each other with narrowed eyes, each cradling a bird in their arms.

Sophie smiled tightly. It had seemed such a good idea at the time, to allow the girls a bird each as a pet, to teach them something of responsibility. Unfortunately, this was before someone (and she was quite sure it was one of Jack’s former crew who was behind it, though she could not name who) had introduced them to the idea of showing birds competitively. Now every dropped feather was a matter for deep rivalry, and calling each other a “foul cur”.

**And a Partridge in a Pear Tree**

Jack positively bounced up to Stephen. “What may you tell me about that tree, Stephen?”

“It is one of your orchard, is it not? I find without the leaves I cannot recall what fruit it usually bears.”

Jack grinned. “Pears. And in it…?”

Stephen followed his gaze. “Oh, I had not realised that you had game birds here. Do you intend to shoot them?”

“And what day is it?”

“It is… oh, for love, a partridge in a pear tree for St Stephen’s day. How did you induce it into the tree?”

Jack’s smile wavered, and he looked suddenly guilty.


End file.
